


The Businessman

by areyouserial



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss comes home after a lackluster bachelorette party that had a letdown of a stripper. The last thing she expects is for her neighbor to turn her night around, but leave it to Peeta to give her exactly what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Businessman

"I can't...see... shit," I mumble as I reach down and snatch the shoe off my foot before it finds purchase on the next step. My hand skates up the wall in the stairwell of my apartment. I grab my other high heel and manage another unsure step until I reach the landing of the fourth floor. The lights are out in the building, in the whole damn city, and the half-ass emergency lights in this hallway barely flicker with anything useful.

"Oh, my god, I have to pee." I groan and blindly grasp my keys, fumbling with the deadbolt lock in the darkness. "Okay, seriously," I say out loud when I keep missing and can't get my key to slip inside.

After a few failed attempts, suddenly the door is pulled open and I almost lose my balance completely, stumbling into the open space. I bump into Peeta's chest and immediately pull my head back in confusion.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" I ask, narrowing my gaze at him.

He eyes me in amusement and tips his bottle of Yuengling to his lips. "This is my apartment."

I glance up at the G on the front of his door, then quickly whip my head around, my hair, wet from darting from the cab to my building in the pouring rain slaps my neck when I do, and realize my apartment is indeed across the hall.

"Right," I sigh after a moment of clarity. "Well, since you've got the door open." I push my way past him, across the threshold to Peeta's apartment as he moves aside to let me in.

"I thought you had that thing tonight." He swings the door closed and heads to his couch. "The bachelorette party."

"I did!" I announce, dropping my heels to the floor with a thud and with quick feet, dart into his bathroom. Eventually my eyes adjust to the darkness, his bathroom lit with merely two mismatched candles.

After a moment, I emerge from the bathroom a much calmer person. "So are we in a blackout or something?" I look around the collection of lit candles scattered around the otherwise dark apartment. Mindlessly, my fingers start to twist my mess of wet hair into a braid, tugging it over my shoulder as I approach Peeta on the couch.

He sniffs a soft laugh and rests his arm there along the cushions. "No, Katniss, this is just how I do things on a Saturday night. Just a creepy guy, sitting alone in the dark with a bunch of candles."

"Thought maybe you had a girl over or something, and this was your seduction technique."

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "Would it work?"

"I'm immune to your charms--"

"Ahh." He huffs, feigning irritation and turns back.

"But on another girl, maybe."

"Well then get outta here."

"Sorry." I shrug. "Can I get a beer?"

He points his bottle toward his fridge and scoots down to rest the back of his neck on his couch cushions. "Go for it. They're not gonna stay cold for long."

"So..." I reach inside the darkened refrigerator for one of the beers and twist off the cap while I bump the door closed with my hip. "What have you been up to tonight?"

"Nothing. I was watching soccer. And then the power went out. And now--" He holds his arms out as if to show me this is the extent of his activity. "I think half of Brooklyn is in the dark."

I take a few steps toward his bay window and bring the rim of the bottle I'm holding to my lips. "It was a miracle as far as I'm concerned. It was the perfect way to escape that fucking party. I was like 'Please let the darkness take me!' because that stripper made me want to crawl in a hole!"

He quickly adjusts, straightening himself into a sitting position. "That bad?"

I look back at the grin creeping across his mouth and shake my head. "Peeta."

"I didn't know you all were getting a stripper."

"Ha!" I mutter.

"What kind of stripper?"

"The worst stripper in the world! That's what kind."

He struggles to swallow his sip of beer and turns his head, chuckling. "Define worst stripper in the world."

"No. No!" I slice my arm across the air. "I can't even talk about it. I'll get all worked up. The girls and I made a pact that we wouldn't talk about it."

He makes this face at me, his mouth open, his brows furrowed. The way the dancing glow of candlelight flits across his features is somewhat mesmerizing but I'm still not going to tell him. "Wait, seriously, what happened?" He asks. "Is everyone okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes, everybody's fine. It was just--" And I pause to take another sip, then press my lips together thoughtfully with another shake of my head. "I need something stronger than this."

He laughs, following me as we head toward the cramped kitchen lit by a few more candles and bumps me out of the way at the counter. "You want your drink?"

I grin up at him. "Please."

He reaches up into the darkness for the pretty bottle of Bombay Sapphire on top of his refrigerator and sets it on his counter before opening a cabinet for his martini shaker. "Since I only keep gin at my place for you."

"You're a good friend."

He slants me a smile and goes to work cutting a fresh lime. "Continue. I really want to know what happened here."

I sigh and watch him squeeze half a lime into the silver container over the ice. Then he pours a stream of the clear liquor, caps it and gives it a few good shakes. That curve at his biceps that I've always admired flexes with each movement and I let myself stare at it until I shift and prop my backside against the edge of the counter. "He called us on his way over because he was lost, which... right away I'm annoyed with him."

"Mm-hm."

"Madge has him on the phone and I get her to ask him what kind of costume he has--"

"Costume."

"Yes. Costume. If you were a stripper, you'd have a costume, right?"

He twists his lips thoughtfully and glances up as if actually pondering this. "Like... like Superman or something?" He wonders as he passes the cocktail glass to me.

I fix him with an unimpressed look before I raise my glass and down half my drink. I swallow and the alcohol burns my throat, then point my glass at him. "He tells her he's a business man. A _business man_ , Peeta."

"Okay." He raises his shoulders defensively. "So business man... is not high on your list of ideal stripper personas?"

"It's just fucking lame, man." I smack his shoulder with my free hand.

"You're very worked up over this."

"You need to join me in my drinking, because I am. I'm very worked up."

"I'm not drinking that Christmas tree, but I'll join you with something else." He picks another bottle from his collection and starts in on making a drink for himself.

My tongue swipes the moisture from my bottom lip and I feel the smirk start to grow there. "It's always cute to watch you mix drinks," I tell him. "You can take the bartender out of the bar..."

"I didn't put in all those years at T.G.I. Friday’s for nothing."

"Your skills are very valuable to me tonight."

"All the ice in my freezer is gonna melt anyway," he points out. "Might as well have a party, right?"

I exhale a humorless laugh.

"So go on. Business man stripper."

"So he finally gets there," I continue, and decide to make myself comfortable, boosting myself up on his countertop. "Not in any sort of business attire, thank you."

Peeta spreads his hands. "I thought he was a business man!"

"No! He has no costume. He's in a fucking polo shirt."

"Maybe he's like a--" He pauses to raise his glass to his mouth and swallows the amber liquid before exhaling. "Like a business man, but on the golf course. Is that--"

"No!" I cry out again and can't contain the giggle that slips out of me despite my outrage. "No, Peeta!"

He laughs at me. "Isn't that a fantasy?"

"It's not. But whatever. No costume." I shrug as I continue my story. "I'm disappointed, but it is what it is. We ask him if he brought any music. No. He tells us he didn't bring any music, Peeta."

"Is he--" Peeta holds out one hand as if to stop me. "Is it possible this guy was just a regular... like not a stripper? But just some guy delivering Chinese take-out menus or something."

I tip my head back until it bumps the cabinet and cackle up toward the ceiling. "He might as well have been! Take-out menu guy would have been a better stripper costume at this point."

He chokes into his glass and manages another hearty gulp. "Alright, so no music, no costume."

"Right. He tells Madge to just put something on and he'll make it work."

"Sounds like a gamble."

"Madge is like, 'Shit, I didn't think I'd have to make a playlist.' So she just plugs in her phone and shuffles her music. And we all just kind of sit there in the living room and wait for him to get started. And he winds up grinding on us to some Jason Mraz song!"

Peeta sets his glass on the countertop with a smack and nearly keels over. He slaps his hand against a cabinet as he finally exhales a screech of laughter. "This is... my favorite story you've ever told. Shit! I love everything about this."

"It was the most awkward fucking thing--"

"Come on, though. Did you really expect to get all turned on by a stripper at a bachelorette party?"

"Hey, it should at least be a possibility. He had one job."

"Did Johanna enjoy herself?”

"He won her over eventually. But overall... never again."

"So how much of this grinding happened on _you_?" He wonders with a crooked eyebrow and I notice he quickly averts his gaze to my lap.

I mirror his arched eyebrow and slide my knees open enough to allow him to step closer. "Hm. What's it to you?" My fingers wrap around my chilled glass on the countertop and I bring it to my lips.

He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Just wondering. Gotta get your money's worth, right?"

"Can't you tell by my outrage that I did not get my money's worth?"

A soft chuckle escapes him. "You gotta lower your expectations, Katniss."

"Clearly," I mutter into my glass as I down another sip.

"Maybe he was new. Maybe it was his first day on the job and you all scarred him for life with all your critiques."

"Wait, so now you're defending the terrible stripper?"

"I'm just saying I feel sort of bad for him. It's not an easy gig."

"I never said it was easy. I'm just saying... come prepared."

"So if you were a stripper." He points his glass at me. "What would be your costume?"

"See, I don't think it's the same for men. Guys don't care about the wardrobe."

"You don't speak for us." A smile stretches his cheeks.

"Do you care one way or the other about a costume?"

He shrugs carelessly and his throat bobs with another gulp of his drink before he exhales a hot breath. "Strippers aren't really my thing."

"Oh, fuck off." I laugh, shaking my head at him. "I would be a business lady... on the golf course--"

Peeta claps his hands together, sputtering an unexpected laugh and then pumps one fist in approval.

"Since apparently that's what's hot now," I finish.

"Yes. And if that image appears in my dreams tonight..."

"You'd love it." I kick one foot out and loosely wrap it around his leg.

"Maybe. I could work with that."

"Sick," I tease him in an exhale.

He eyes me over the rim of his glass.

"You know you're not allowed to dream about me anymore." My feet dangle above the kitchen floor and I press my hands on the edge of the counter.

"Says who?"

"Says me. That kind of stuff is far in the past."

He comes a step closer, sets his glass down, and I see his lashes lower as his gaze flits to my bottom lip. I drag my teeth there. "Oh yeah?" He wonders.

"Mm-hm."

"Sometimes you show up in my dreams." He tells me. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Well I guess as long as we're being platonic and friendly in these dreams, I’m okay with it.”

"Oh, we're being pretty fucking friendly in some of these dreams."

A soft laugh blows from between my lips. I'm done pretending like this isn't going to happen. "Then tell me more about these dreams, friend," I murmur as I'm drawn near his face. I can taste him before my mouth even meets his, that's how easily the memory of him is triggered.

His breath on my skin sends the heat that's been swirling in my chest plummeting southward. We both hesitate a moment, a wisp of practically nothing separating his lips from mine because this is one mistake we've made before. More than once.

His head twitches back just the slightest bit and he sips a quick inhale like he knows we're about to fuck up this attempt at friendship. Again. "Ugh," he groans. "Fuck."

"I know," I whisper, close my eyes and let my mouth fall on his. I hear myself whimper as his kiss melts me. His lips, relaxed and pillowy against mine, warm everything inside of me like they're my most cherished fucking memory. For half a second, I consider squeezing my eyes tighter and pulling away but then his hands slide up my thighs and grip my hips, tugging me toward the edge of this countertop. So instead I dive for his mouth once more. I live for the rumble of his groans, they vibrate through me, so damn needy, I'd give him anything he wanted.

I feel his fist bunch the back of my shirt when he pauses, eases away from me until my bottom lip is left throbbing. "Katniss," he sighs, tilting his head down, his forehead pressed against mine. "I'm sorry."

I bring my palms to my face and huff a deep breath. I mumble a groan into my hands.

"We shouldn't," he whispers.

I inhale deeply, raising my head and peer up into the darkness. "Yeah. I know."

He clears his throat and pushes himself away from the counter, reaching up the scratch the back of his head.

"I'm gonna go," I say.

Blowing a heavy stream of air through puffed cheeks, he finally glances back at me. "Um. Alright, yeah. You okay? You need candles or something?"

"I'll just..." I trail off, head for one of the candles in his living room and pick out a white jar that'll give me enough light to get across the hall. "Take this so I can find the ones in my place."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," I tell him, hurriedly making my way to his door. "Yep. I'm good. I'll see you later, Peeta." I grab my keys on my way out, leave my shoes, and quickly exit his apartment, shutting the door behind me. Finally I exhale, pushing back a sick feeling as I find the right key and let myself into my darkened apartment.

It takes a little while to find a collection of candles and I light each one, leaving a couple in every room. I consider a few books from my shelf but realize I don't have the patience, sigh a defeated breath and head to my room to change. I pull off my jeans in favor of loose grey sweats, frayed at the bottom, and one of my softest t-shirts.

I'm just pulling back the covers of my bed when the knock sounds rapidly on my door. I taste my lips, he still lingers there, and instantly I crave more. "Dammit," I mutter, balling my fist as if I could crumple this struggle inside. Whatever we are, why can't it just exist, why can't we just be whatever it is and not strategically dance around it? My footsteps carry me to the door and I quickly attempt some sort of decision on my way there. I just want him to fuck me. My head's too clouded with need for him to be logical about anything.

When I yank open the door, I'm prepared for the crushing kiss he's likely to drop on me. This isn't our first cat and mouse chase. But instead I pause, the air in my chest refusing to escape between parted lips.

Peeta steps into my doorway, his fingers go to the knot in the dark tie at his throat. "Excuse me--"

"Oh my god."

"I believe we have a... _business meeting_. Right now."

I slap my palms over my mouth and squeak in shocked amusement. I let my gaze fall down the length of him, completely decked out in a grey suit and tie, he's got to be fucking kidding me, I'm about to slap him. He has his glasses perched on his face, fuck I haven't seen those in forever. "Ohmygod," I say again, mumbling into my hands.

He takes a few steps inside and swings the door shut behind him. "I'm gonna need to see your _spreadsheets_ \--"

I scream and tip my head back, squeezing my fists around his lapels.

"If you know..." He continues. "What I mean."

"Stop it!" I warn, grinning up at him.

"I'm not kidding."

I let my face fall against his chest and I giggle into his crisp shirt. "Take this off right now."

"No, but seriously." His hands grip my shoulders and he begins to back me up into my living room. "I just did two shots of Jameson, watched a couple YouTube videos on my phone. And I cannot let this night end with you disappointed over a terrible stripper."

"Peeta Mellark!"

He positions me in the center of the room and then darts away, returning with a chair from my kitchen table.

I gasp happily and tuck my fists against my mouth. "Are you here to strip for me?"

"First of all I'm a business man."

"Yes, obviously."

"So I need you to sit right there.”

"I wanna say... Do not do this." I start to shake my head at him and my grin is stretching my cheeks so hard I can barely stand it. "But I think I want it so bad."

"You really do." He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and retrieves his phone. "And I picked music."

I gape at him. "Are you some sort of professional?"

He reaches for his glasses and slips them off his face. "A professional businessman."

"Fuck. Me." I smile up at him, shaking my head in disbelief. "I hope you never regret this decision."

"I regret it already."

I clap loudly and arch back, exhaling a hearty laugh toward the ceiling.

“You better be ready for this, girl,” he warns as he takes a moment to queue up his song. He turns up the volume all the way and sets the phone down on a nearby table just as the opening drums are slammed of Billy Squire’s _The Stroke_.

“FUUUUUCK,” I moan dramatically as my mouth falls open.

He lingers over me, coming closer another step until he’s pressed against me and I find myself falling down into the chair. I giggle again and cover my mouth with my hands. I can hardly look at him because he’s cracking me up, and at the same time I want him naked so badly.

He takes a step back, his fingers at the button on his jacket where he quickly undoes it. His body rolls like a wave and the jacket slides off his arms and I can feel the pink heating my cheeks. I can’t help laughing because he’s so damn adorable, and later he’s going to have to explain these moves of his.

The heavy beat sets his pace and I bounce my shoulders to it a little bit as he makes his way closer. He reaches for his tie, loosening the knot as he rolls his hips toward me again, straddling my lap.

“No.” I stop him. “Leave it.”

“This?” He points to his tie.

I nod up at him.

He touches his shirt. “This?”

“Lose it.”

His fingers grasp the fabric and he pulls the shirt open. I nearly choke on my breath when a few of the buttons fly off and hit my floor.

My feet happily tap the floor and I clap my hands again. I gaze up at him as he flings his shirt back, and I see him laugh at himself for a moment. His shirt is still halfway on, draped down his back, the sleeves in tact at his forearms. Then he reaches for my hand and places it on his taut stomach while he peers down at me. He holds my wrist and guides it lower and it’s like the heat of his body flares through my veins when I touch him until I feel my pulse between my legs.

The dirty sounding guitar crackles out of the speakers and the lazy downbeat of the song has my heart thudding. _Stroke me, stroke me…_ This song will never be the same to me ever again.

As he moves closer, he unloops his belt buckle and it jingles right in front of me. He grasps my hand again and offers me the end of his belt. I know I stopped laughing the moment I touched him and now I can’t do anything but stare at him. I can’t even close my mouth. I oblige and wrap my fingers around his belt buckle and slowly, he takes a few steps back until the black leather slips from his waist and I’m left holding it.

I’m stunned as I look at it in my hand. When I glance back up, he’s standing over me, a leg on either side of my lap with one hand grasping the back of my chair. His hips dip into me once more and I shamelessly let my gaze slowly make its way up the solid path from his waist to his broad chest, the strong curve of his shoulder, and the tempting outline of his neck.

“What in the hell did they teach you at T.G.I. Fridays?” I ask, dropping the belt and closing one fist around his tie, begging him closer.

He smirks at me and leans down, brings his face near mine and I tilt up toward him to capture his lips in a kiss. But instead, he ducks his head and sinks down in front of my chair. I follow his every move with antsy anticipation but I’m still not ready when he throws my legs over his shoulders and scoops me up out of my chair.

I can’t help it and I shriek as I’m hoisted into the air above his head. “Oh my god!” I scream, clasping my hands around the back of his neck as he buries his face between my legs. I kick my feet that dangle over his shoulders and let out helpless cackle up toward the ceiling.

He turns and carries me to the couch before he bends forward at the waist and lays me across the cushions.

I rush back up into a sitting position, grasp his tie again and pull him into me. I have no patience for the rest of his act and neither does he when his mouth lands on mine and a hungry growl rumbles in his throat. I shove the rest of his shirt off his wrists and he whips it to the floor before his eager hands find the waist of my pants and in one swift tug, pull them, with my underwear, down the length of my legs. He pushes his palm against my inner thigh and dips his head. And as my head tips back and my hips tilt into his eager mouth, I’m reminded of so many reasons why we can’t just be friends.

I’ve been screaming oh my god’s all night but they were hollow compared to the needy cries that escape when he unravels me with the velvety strokes of his tongue. My back arches off the couch cushions and the noises get trapped inside of my chest for a moment when I eventually come against his mouth.

But the moans find their way out and my hips jerk and the cool air between my thighs when Peeta eases his face away makes me twitch. I don’t even catch my breath before I prop myself up and reach for the button on his pants. We both fumble for it, urging them down and he grasps one of my legs around the back of my knee, hitches it up and I feel him fill me so suddenly, I moan so fucking loud.

We’ve been here before. We’ve fucked countless times on this couch, lost ourselves in one another until we were clueless. But I crave the way he makes me feel and I don’t care if we fuck it up again. I wrap my legs around his back, nearly lose my mind with the way he thrusts inside me.

His tie is draped between us and I loop the end of it around my fist, squeezing. The torturous coil that aches in my core begs to be undone. He’s already made me come once, but instead of relief, all I felt was the frantic hunger for more.

It was easy to be neighbors and friends who occasionally have sex when the mood strikes. But this is different, I can feel it, I can hear the desperation in his breath. I can tell by the way I ache for him. I would beg for him to fuck me in every room of this apartment even though I know I won’t have to.

A surprised whimper sneaks out of me when he quickly slides off of me and gets to his feet, facing the cushions. He scoops me up, turns me so I’m facing away from him and plants my hands on the back of the couch. Yanking my hips back, he exhales a hot groan when he eases back into me from behind before tugging my hips back again and thrusting harder.

With my knees on the couch cushions, I tip forward. A ragged whimper tumbles out of me that steadily escalates as his hips begin to pound my ass, a steady rhythm that I try to match, but I’m so fucked, my head is spinning. My knuckles white as I grip the back of the couch harder, I arch my back and push against him until I hear the throaty groan from behind me.

I cry out when suddenly I feel his arm wrap around me and his fingers seeking out my clit. He’s so deep inside of me, his strokes become shorter the less he pulls out and I scream into the fabric of my couch as I feel myself tighten, my muscles rigid and throbbing as Peeta’s fingers paint hurried circles over the aching pulse of my clit and my hips jerk back against him until I come all over again.

The second I lose it, I feel him speed up, the pace that he wanted but was so desperately holding back until I got off, and he buries himself inside of me, his chest draped over my back and I feel the nip of his teeth on the back of my shoulder as he grunts against my skin and holds me to him until he stills altogether.

Eventually, we collapse across the couch together and our ragged breathing begins to slow. I blink up at him and drag my teeth across my bottom lip as I admire the pink flush of his cheeks and parted wet lips. Those eyes of his, light and always revealing too much, heated with a desire that’s still there and I know it won’t be long before we follow the candlelight into another room and prove to one another once again that we’re the best kind of friends.


End file.
